Scott Steinman Remembered
Scott Steinman, aka Diana McGuire, died in March of this year. A memorial service was held in San Francisco on March 20.

Those of you who were in Monterey when Scott was performing will know that he was alternately admired, hated, applauded, reviled, and lionized. I think he liked it that way. It was Scott. It was very Diana.

Scott was one of the few people I've met who thought it perfectly normal to have impossible dreams and to make them come true.

Scott and I first became acquainted when he was collecting change to start the first gay pride festival in Monterey. His interest was so earnest that I decided to give him a little help. What I discovered was a young man—who I'd originally considered flighty and silly—that lacked the fear that cripples so many in our community. Maybe it came from growing up gay in King City, maybe from the protection of his persona. It didn't really matter. He did things others wouldn't or couldn't, and with that comes respect.

Scott produced weekly drag shows at the After Dark for a time. I thought of two when I heard of his death. When Scott/Diana performed as the "ice queen", it was a very special magic. Perched on a stool in a silvery-white gown and covered tiara-to-pump in luminescent, glittering make-up, he moved so deliberately and with such poise that I stopped hearing the music; it was beautiful, simply beautiful.

"Cash For Your Trash" was another story. By chance, Scott chatted with me over lunch about what he was planning and he seemed worried about whether wrapping his small frame in a mattress pad and wearing blackface would work. "Blackface?" I remember sputtering "You can't do it in blackface!" Scott thought for a moment and then, without looking up from his fries, said "Yeah, I'm worried about it too, but I did some tests and it didn't smudge at all." The audience loved it.

After leaving Monterey, I lost touch with Scott. I ran into him by chance at Renegades in San Jose about six months ago. He was there for post-drag show pub crawl, and he was flirting, laughing, and being Diana—or Miss Gay San Francisco, the honorary title he held at his death.

It would be easy to classify Scott as one of those people that lived to shock people through his outrageous behavior and paid the price. The Scott I knew was a sweet, complex kid who grew up gay in a podunk town and who never for an instant questioned his ability to accomplish what he set his mind to do. I feel very lucky to have known him.